


Haste Makes Waste

by ReneeMR



Category: Hghlander - Fandom
Genre: Crossdressing, Highlander - Freeform, Humor, M/M, MacLeod - Freeform, methos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-10-07
Updated: 2001-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReneeMR/pseuds/ReneeMR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos and Duncan attend the Hasty Pudding Club 'Man of the Year' presentation in Cambridge, Mass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haste Makes Waste

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Methos was sprawled over two-thirds of the couch. As usual. He looked at his lover with narrowed eyes.

"You promised, MacLeod. You know you did. I went to that stu... to the opera with you, and you promised to go with me next time I asked."

"But, Methos, this is... These things are ridiculous. Archaic."

"And a hell of a lot of fun, Mac. Just loosen up. You'll enjoy it."

The Scot still glowered. He had to make a show of keeping his dignity. At the very least.

"And I didn't ask you to dress up, either," Methos added silently.

"What? Dress up?" The Highlander shook his head. "Are you out of your 5000 year-old mind, Methos? God."

"I'm a member, MacLeod! It's tradition." The ancient immortal smiled. "Now, where would I be if I didn't keep traditions?"

The Highlander snorted. "Christmas. What about Christmas."

"That has changed a lot since 1795. Hasty Pudding hasn't changed nearly as much," he declared.

"All right. I give. I'll go with you."

Methos grinned, and nearly did severe damage as he flung himself into MacLeod's lap. "Ah, dah-ling! I do love you so!"

\+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

MacLeod had to admit that acquiescing so gracefully had gotten him a lot more than bitching did.

Methos had picked up the tab on a really romantic suite in Cambridge. Had even made plans for them to spend five days there.

So, they'd driven over on Wednesday afternoon and had a wonderful evening of fine dining and romance. MacLeod grinned. A very sated grin. Methos was nearly as good in the romance department as he was.

Said romantic came out of the bath and climbed back into the bed. He rolled up against his lover, and pulled him into a hug. "Hm. We don't have to leave here until four. However shall we occupy ourselves?"

His question was met with a snickering laugh.

"Breakfast...um...brunch?"

"Room service, or dining room. And remember, we have to get dressed to go to the dining room."

"Room service."

\+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

At noon there came a resounding knock on the suite's door. MacLeod went for his katana, but Methos only got up and slipped on shorts and a tee.

"You'd better get dressed, we'll need to get in here. Unless you don't mind  
providing the entertainment."

"What? Methos?" The Highlander scrambled into sweats and went into the other room just in time to see four young--um, 'people'--enter the suite. They carried more baggage than MacLeod had seen in a long time.

"Well, hello you," one of them said appreciatively.

"Hello." Deciding that retreat was the better part of valor, the Scot grabbed his running shoes. "Methos I'm going for a run."

"Be back early enough to be ready to leave at four, please?"

"Three?"

"You know how long it takes to get yourself ready," Methos said offhandedly. He was already deep in conversation with the quartet.

At three the Highlander entered an unexpectedly empty suite. And found a note propped on the phone. How unlike Methos.

'Adam says to meet him in the bar.' It was sighed by 'Ger.' MacLeod sighed. And sighed again at the state of the suite. Calling it a wreck was being kind.

He hurried to get ready, showering and shaving and dressing in his tux. Methos had insisted. So, with a full fifteen minutes to spare the Highlander entered the hotel bar.

He looked around. The place was deserted except for three women sitting at a little table. He gave them a cursory glance, and went over to the bartender.

"I'm looking for a friend."

The man nodded toward the trio at the table.

The Scot looked over at the women again. Then back at the bartender.

"I don't think you understand. He's, ah, going to this...thing...tonight. At Harvard." MacLeod sighed. "Dressed like a..."

The Highlander whirled around and looked at the women. Or should he say 'women?'

The brunette in the middle, the one with the sweep of long hair, raised her wineglass and smiled.

He'd know that smile anywhere.

As he walked over to the table the other two got up and left. MacLeod didn't even notice.

He took the seat on Methos' left. and picked up his lover's hand. Not a woman's hand. No. But elegant and fine. Especially with the beautifully realistic false nails.

"I wish I had a ring to put on your finger," he whispered softly. He stared into Methos green-flecked eyes. "Come on, finish your drink. I want to show you off."

Methos agreed with a breathtaking smile, and stood. The green velvet dress was elegant in it's simplicity. Utterly guileless. Devastating. And whoever had done the makeup had worked magic.

MacLeod helped the old one into the coat that matched the dress, buttoning it for him with loving hands. Methos watched MacLeod's face. When the buttoning ritual was done the old immortal placed a kiss on his cheek, then laughed and rubbed away a smudge of lipstick.

He took the Highlander's arm. "Let's go," he said softly.

\+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

"Duncan MacLeod!"

The Highlander groaned. He recognized the voice. Damn. The festivities were over. All he wanted was to get away from the crush of the fans, paparazzi, TV people, and party-goers. And they were only a couple of blocks away from the hotel. And bed.

And now he'd have to face the English bastard.

"Stay here," he told Methos. "Maybe I can get rid of him."

"Colin Hayward," MacLeod acknowledged curtly.

"You don't sound very happy to see me, Duncan. How long has it been?"

"Not long enough."

"Right."

"Is this a challenge?"

"Certainly. Time for me to end this nonsense. I've been looking forward to it."

Methos walked out of the shadows just then.

"Oh, look. Duncan's got a tart."

"She's not a tart."

"Oh, so she's a lady?!"

"She's not that either."

"Whatever. Shall we begin?"

The Highlander drew his katana from out of his coat.

\+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

It was midnight before they got back to the hotel, and all MacLeod could think about was Methos. Methos under that green velvet dress. By the time they got to the door of the suite he was so hard he could barely walk.

The ancient immortal felt his quickening-amorous companion thrust against him insistently. "Mac, gimme room to breathe, will you." He clenched his buttocks as he had several times in the last eight hours. As his lover's persistent erection had caressed his hip. Even before the idiot--and quickly dispatched--Colin had arrived.

Ger had been so right. His being in drag had obviously been driving the Scot right out of his fucking mind! And now MacLeod had a taken a quickening on top of it all.

Methos got the suite's door open. And found himself being pushed backwards straight through the living room and into the bedroom. The backs of his calves hit the edged of the mattress and he went sprawling.

MacLeod crawled over him, and kissed him insistently. His hands slipped under the dress. By all that was holy, Methos was wearing... The Scot sat back on his knees. His hands were shaking.

The old man took the opportunity to climb off the bed, and pulled MacLeod up too. "Undo me," he said as he presented his back to the Highlander. With still shaking hands MacLeod lowered the zipper on the dress and groaned when Methos bent forward to ease out of it.

Methos tossed the dress over a chair, and turned to his lover. "Mac?"

The Highlander was sitting on the side of the bed. Staring. He was helpless to do anything else. The vision before him was too incredible to be real. Yet, MacLeod reached out and touched his lover.

"You. Are. A. Bastard." He managed to get those four words out. "Who told you? Amanda? Rich? Joe?!"

"What?" Methos put his hands on his hips, thrust one forward and cocked his knee.

MacLeod groaned heartily. Then the Highlander mumbled something.

"What?!" Methos moved closer, and threw his arms wide. "What's come over you all of a sudden? Is it the quickening?" He took another step nearer to his lover.

MacLeod couldn't stand it any longer. He pulled Methos close, then laid him gently on the bed.

"You really don't know what you're doing to me?"

"Um. No. Not exactly..."

"Nobody told you about this?" He fingered the black silk and lace camisole. "Or about this? He ran a finger inside the waistband of the garter belt and felt Methos' breath shudder. "And the panties. Oh my God!"

He couldn't help it. In one swift movement he tore the matching panties asunder and flung them to the floor. Then he was on Methos and swallowing him before the ancient one could move.

"Duncan!" Methos grabbed his lover's head and forced him away.

"Methos," he said in a small voice. "I'm sorry."

"Duncan, listen to me. I didn't know. This was all supposed to be for you. Not me. It's just what people wear under velvet. I'll go change."

The Scott shook his head slowly. For him? Methos had set up this scene for him? A surge of love for his partner threatened to overwhelm him.

"What? Are you daft, old man? I wanted to fuck you silly the second I saw you in that dress. You know how I've been. If I'd had any idea. Black silk. I adore black silk." He grinned suddenly. "If I'd known, we'd never have gotten out of the hotel."

The ancient immortal brightened. "Really? Black silk? Is it, hm, like a fetish?"

MacLeod shrugged and grinned even wider. "Could be."

"Oh, then don't let me interfere." Methos sprawled back on the bed. A wanton display. Wearing only the black camisole, garter belt, black silk stockings, green stiletto pumps. And an erection as big as. Well.

The Highlander nodded, and lost his tux in record time.

Still, Methos had already used the lube. MacLeod entered his lover's body easily, and forged in until their pelvises melded.

The old man shuddered, and called his lover's name. Called to his gods. Shouted archaic obscenities.

MacLeod held his lover steady and long-nailed hands bit into his arms. Long, dark hair whipped around him with Methos' flailing.

He rode his lover long and hard, and when he finally came they were both flying.

Stumbling out of bed later, Methos almost tripped. He picked up the ruined lingerie. Turned to his sex-dazed lover.

"Mac, do you have any idea what this stuff costs?" The panties had gone first. Then the camisole. The garter belt had survived until the last time.

"Um, Methos? I'll buy you more."

"Really? You will? Can I get a white lace teddy?"

"Whatever you want. Buy out 'Victoria's Secret' for yourself if you want."

"Oh. But I don't want the teddy for myself. I want it for you."

 

End


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